Vixere
Captain Uni
parelaxis
Passable Writer
rush99999
Nightwing95
The surge of divine blessing that fell atop Brannor like a mantle came with a familiar sensation, a familiar feeling deep in his fibers and down to the roots of his spirit, but a foreign one all the same as though it were restrained and distant; it was not feral or wild, not touched in the same way he was. Such favor on behalf of Kyra's patron was certainly not unwelcome to him, on the contrary rather. Just the faint caress of nature's power was enough to steel his mettle in the bright cyan light that raged against the stones of the keep, utterly destroying more of the resistance and leaving the air with an unworldly, sharp and bitter smell. As quickly as the breath of lightning roared forth, it vanished with the dragon in its ascent - chased by vibrant orbs of glittering light that illuminated it like a beacon in the sky.
It might have been the timeliness of it all, between the arrows deflecting harmlessly off the scaled blue beast, the onset of holy power, its body illuminated with twinkling light, and then the sudden explosion of shards of ice into a deadly piercing mist, there was now determination in place of hesitation for the man.
The sound, the noise, it all left for a moment as his eyes scanned desperately to find a greater answer. The mute world, now only distant vibrations and shadows moving in the glimpses of moonlight and fire, it bought Brannor time to think. Arrows and bolts were well enough, but what of a ballista? Did the keep have such a weapon? Surely if they did the dragon would have been wise enough to destroy an actual threat to itself, but what if it hadn't? If such fortune arose, he wanted to make use of it.
With the moment of clarity bleeding off - the sound of the world around him, greyed out as it was in brief, came returning with an eerie ringing in his ears - although the hunter was already on the move again, none more distracted than he could be. He drew out from the doorway that so protected him, bowstring drawn far and back, tracking the climb of the dragon in his sights, he managed only barely then to dodge the half orc who came roaring past, scrambling up the wall in pursuit of his quarry; the bow released all the same and the arrow went sailing off into the dark wildly.
It was enough to make him roar an incoherent curse in woodland tongue instinctively, the frustration to have so little power against the monster welling within him. The urge to give in to it, the senseless anger, had to be repurposed somehow...
And repurposed it was, for that burn of the otherworldly, silvery wrath he could feel - stoked further by magical blessing - broke him free of the dragon's reign of terror; if an old man had such courage to assail the creature as he did with deathly ice and a tiny hin to strum her instrument with devoted inspiration, Brannor knew for certain that he and his gift could do just as well. There was to be no relent, just as the dragon was so inclined not to offer any quarter to the swathes of men it cut down.
It was for these reasons, he returned into the archway's cover, cloak and chain to the wall, and knocked yet another arrow; he would strike true his quarry or at least die trying.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen
It might have been the timeliness of it all, between the arrows deflecting harmlessly off the scaled blue beast, the onset of holy power, its body illuminated with twinkling light, and then the sudden explosion of shards of ice into a deadly piercing mist, there was now determination in place of hesitation for the man.
The sound, the noise, it all left for a moment as his eyes scanned desperately to find a greater answer. The mute world, now only distant vibrations and shadows moving in the glimpses of moonlight and fire, it bought Brannor time to think. Arrows and bolts were well enough, but what of a ballista? Did the keep have such a weapon? Surely if they did the dragon would have been wise enough to destroy an actual threat to itself, but what if it hadn't? If such fortune arose, he wanted to make use of it.
With the moment of clarity bleeding off - the sound of the world around him, greyed out as it was in brief, came returning with an eerie ringing in his ears - although the hunter was already on the move again, none more distracted than he could be. He drew out from the doorway that so protected him, bowstring drawn far and back, tracking the climb of the dragon in his sights, he managed only barely then to dodge the half orc who came roaring past, scrambling up the wall in pursuit of his quarry; the bow released all the same and the arrow went sailing off into the dark wildly.
It was enough to make him roar an incoherent curse in woodland tongue instinctively, the frustration to have so little power against the monster welling within him. The urge to give in to it, the senseless anger, had to be repurposed somehow...
And repurposed it was, for that burn of the otherworldly, silvery wrath he could feel - stoked further by magical blessing - broke him free of the dragon's reign of terror; if an old man had such courage to assail the creature as he did with deathly ice and a tiny hin to strum her instrument with devoted inspiration, Brannor knew for certain that he and his gift could do just as well. There was to be no relent, just as the dragon was so inclined not to offer any quarter to the swathes of men it cut down.
It was for these reasons, he returned into the archway's cover, cloak and chain to the wall, and knocked yet another arrow; he would strike true his quarry or at least die trying.
@Hekazu@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen
